The Letters
by Treehilldreams
Summary: Lucas Scott, at the age of 70 years old, recounts tales of his life with his deceased wife, Brooke Davis.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! This is a new story of mine, and I really hope you enjoy it. Here are a few things you must know before you start reading: **

This is told by Lucas Scott, as a story/narrative.

He is telling a story that takes place in the past, although at some points he shares his thoughts of the present. His story is revolved around the letters Brooke wrote him the Summer she was in California.

Even though this is a Brucas story, I'm almost positive many of you will enjoy it. It is a story of love.

Disclaimer- I don't own One Tree Hill. Also, I used a small quote from the movie "The Notebook" in this selection of my story.

The Letters

_It was many years ago, fifty-two to be exact. I was sitting in my computer chair, entranced by my own thoughts. My legs were twisting back and fourth methodically, as I sat transfixed by a mural of the river court painted upon my wall. I may have been staring at the picture of the place I loved most in the world, but all I could see were images of her. **Her**. The person I love most in the world. I can remember trying to resist my thoughts of her. She had betrayed me; I was hurt terribly. I tried to think of other things to erase her from my mind, but I just couldn't. She was like **ink**, I couldn't erase her. The thought crossed my mind once or twice that evening, the evening **fifty-two years ago** to this day, that my heart break over Brooke Davis was my karma for what I had previously done to her. I had betrayed her, just as she had betrayed me…the wheels kept on spinning. So there I sat, staring at a wall like it was of some great significance. I was still twisting my legs back and fourth, it was causing my chair to twirl about in circles. Eventually, I grew dizzy, so I stopped with the spinning. Instead, I decided to listen to the distant sounds of my clock "ticking" as my thoughts of her continued to consume me. _

I saw her smile and her hair blowing beyond her as she ran into the awaiting ocean on a sunny day we shared at the beach.

**Tick.**

I saw the look of shock she gave me when I kissed her before she left for California that past Summer.

**Tick.**

I saw her anger, her defiant stance as she told me to go to hell in the hallway of school after I apologized for cheating on her.

**Tick.**

And then I saw her laying in bed with Chris Keller, a name that seems so very distant today, yet I can still remember it.

The clock kept ticking, and I kept seeing.

You may wonder how I can recall such detailed events that happened fifty-two years ago. You could call me an old man, you could surely say that my days have been many. I'll be seventy years old in exactly 2 months, but these days some would call the big _"7-0"_ young. It's been fifty-two years, fifty-two long years. But I still remember the night she came back to me. **The night the letters brought us together.**

_The word **"envy"** had played across my tongue that evening, as the ticks of my clock continued to echo in the distance. I was an envious man the night I found my girl in the arms of another person. Truthfully, she was never really mine the Summer she left for California, nor was she mine in the months following her return. Regardless, seeing the one you love with another person results in heartbreak. It was around this time, this exact moment, when I was thinking about that four-lettered word (envy) , that a loud and desperate knock upon my door blocked out the "ticks" of my clock. I suppose I stood up from my chair, and walked to the door leading to the outside. I don't remember that part, but I do recall the utter black color that adorned my door. It had been red, but I couldn't be reminded of her. **Of the girl behind the red door.** So I painted it black. Depressing, I know, but I was a confused teen at the time. I reached out. I turned the knob, I opened my black door. And there, in the midst of the night, she stood at my doorstep, looking as sad as ever. I thought I was imagining her at first, that my daydreaming of her was just acting up once again. She was holding something in her hands, but I didn't bother to look. I was too concerned with staring at her face, taking in her angel-like beauty. She had bangs back then. They fell into her perfect hazel eyes, blocking her vision, almost like she was trying to hide. I still assumed I was only dreaming, but then she spoke. Her raspy voice awakened my mind, and I realized that it was truly her standing before me. _

"**There are 82 letters in here," she said, "and they're all addressed to you." **

Then she shoved whatever she was holding into my arms without giving me a moment's hesitation to register what she had said. I looked down at the object placed firmly in my hands, and there it was- the box of letters.

I guess by now an introduction is far over-due, but I'll do one for the sake of it. My name is Lucas Scott. If you live in Tree Hill, chances are you've heard of myself and my family. They say I'm just the brother of a retired Nba basketball player. They say I'm the name on the cover of the book that's sitting on their night-stand, the author of their favorite novel. To the world, I am Lucas Scott, a famous novelist. But to the few that truly know me, I fall under quiet a few labels.

A brother.

A son.

A father.

A grand- father.

An uncle.

A friend.

But one title of who I once was is gone from that list, vanished forever. The word "husband" used to be there. Instead, it's now replaced with something else.

**A widower.**

In my family, I'm referred to as "the writer", and that is what I plan to do. I'm going to write the story of the letters, and how they allowed my heart to find my true love. Today is the anniversary of the day the letters found their way into my hand, and today I will begin the tale. Stories like mine are hard to come by- stories of love. Some call love stories cheesy, others say they represent an emotion that isn't realistic in this world. I say my story, the story of the letters, can make you feel alive.

I don't fall asleep with the one I love wrapped in my arms each night, nor do I revel in the feeling of the heart's truest kiss. But I have loved another with all my heart and soul, and for me, this has always been enough. I'm an elderly man, with a box of letters to help me through my days. A man with four wonderful children, seven grandchildren, and friends that are always by my side. My hair is grayed, my skin has wrinkled. I've changed in a million ways since the year I was 18 years old. The year the letters helped me find the girl I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. I do not mourn my loss of her, the loss that occurred just a few years ago, although it seems like so much longer. I was blessed to have her in my life, and the letters bring her back to me each day. _All 82 of them_.

To be continued...


	2. Watching the rain

Here's the next installment of my story!

Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill!

_I don't fall asleep with the one I love wrapped in my arms each night, nor do I revel in the feeling of the heart's truest kiss. But I have loved another with all my heart and soul, and for me, this has always been enough. I'm an elderly man, with a box of letters to help me through my days. A man with four wonderful children, seven grandchildren, and friends that are always by my side. My hair is grayed, my skin has wrinkled. I've changed in a million ways since the year I was 18 years old. The year the letters helped me find the girl I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. I do not mourn my loss of her, the loss that occurred just a few years ago, although it seems like so much longer. I was blessed to have her in my life, and the letters bring her back to me each day. **All 82 of them.**_

To be continued...

The Letters

My grandchildren often ask me to tell them the tale of when Grandma gave me the letters, even though they all know the story by heart at this point. I take one of them in my lap, usually the youngest one, and I begin to tell the story. Afterwards, they always seem to ask the same question.

"Grandpa, how do you remember?"

And usually, my answer is always the same.

"How can I forget?"

I start the story off with the same exact sentence every single time. I say, "Once upon a time…", and then I pause for a dramatic second. Each one of my grandchildren stare up at me from their positions on the floor around the fireplace. They beg for me to continue, and the one on my lap tugs on my ear and whispers, "Keep going Grandpa!" I bask in the glory of using a fairy tale's "Once upon a time…", because I know that my story, the story of the letters, can be considered as a fairy-tale. After I know that I have their full attention, I begin the story.

_Once upon a time..._

"_**There are 82 letters in here," she said, "and they're all addressed to you." ** _

Then she shoved whatever she was holding into my arms without giving me a moment's hesitation to register what she had said. I looked down at the object placed firmly in my hands, and there it was- the box of letters.

_The wheels in my mind began to turn as I tried to think of something to say to her. I didn't know why she had just handed me a cardboard box with 82 letters, but I never got a chance to ask. _

"_I wrote them all this Summer, one a day" she said, her voice cracking as she spoke, "but I never sent them because I was afraid."_

_All at once, I could hear my heart beginning to pick up speed in my chest. I stared at the torn girl before me, and I knew that whatever she was about to say was going to change the course of my life for better or for worse. _

_"Brooke-" I tried to say something to stop her, because I knew that she would surely break if she continued speaking, but she immediately cut me off. _

_"I was afraid of getting my heart broken again...like before. And I was afraid of you, and the way that you make me feel. And I know that doesn't matter now after what I did, but I just thought that you should know," and by now, a water-fall of tears were cascading down her cheeks as she spoke, "This is how I spent my summer Luke- wanting you. I was just too scared to admit it."_

_As quickly as she had appeared, she vanished. She ran down the stairs in the blink of an eye and hurried across the sidewalk to her Blue Volkswagon. I always had loved that car. It was small and cute just like she was; the car and her together was a perfect fit. She kept it forever, and it's still sitting in our garage. I don't use it any more, I don't think it would be morally right for me to drive her car when she no longer does. _

_I glanced down at the cardboard box, containing 82 letters, that was positioned between my own two hands, and I realized that she had just handed me my heart. There I was, holding it, after she had courageously handed it over. In a flash, I set the box down on my dresser and hurried out the door after her. I plunged down my porch steps. I remember skipping the last two stairs in my hurry to catch her before she drove away. I felt my feet hit the pavement of the sidewalk, and I screamed her name in fear that she was slipping away._

_"Brooke!"_

_She turned around, her face streaked with tears and her chest rising and falling heavily in sync with her sobs. I spread my arms out, a gesture of defeat. I knew that I could no longer refuse her love, not after this. The words "forgive her" were screaming in my mind, and that's exactly what I did. _

_**I forgave her.**_

_"What you did with Chris...it's okay," I said._

_Her eyes widened in shock, and I realized that she had never thought that I would forgive her. _

_"No! It's not, it's too much to forgive!" she screamed back. I knew that she wasn't screaming at me, she was screaming at herself. She knew what she had done was wrong. I wanted to tell her that everyone makes mistakes, that we would be okay, but my mind couldn't process the words. I could hear my heart "thumping" in my chest, and I was almost positive that she could hear it. _

_"Well that's too bad, because I forgive you," I replied._

_I could tell that she was still in denial, because she stubbornly shook her head and shot back, "You can't!"_

_I didn't know what to say at this, so I just repeated something that I had told her on a dreamy night at the beach. _

_"I just did! I'm the guy for you Brooke Davis, and I know that I hurt you last time around but-"_

_I guess hearing that I was the guy for her for the second time finally did it, because she finally let her guard down._

_"I love you," she said. It was only three simple words consisting of three short syllables, but to me it was so much more. _

_"I love you too...pretty girl," I said, reaching out and gently caressing her cheek. She let her face fall into my hands, and she let out a long sigh of relief. _

_She leaned in, I did the same, and we kissed. A few yards away, beyond her blue volkswagon, up the set of my porch steps, and behind my black door, there sat a box of letters. Unbeknownst to us, as we let our hearts connect in the feeling of love's glorious kiss, that box of letters had brought us back together. _

_Most of our life is a series of images. Some pass us by like towns on a highway. But sometimes, a moment stuns us as it happens, and we know that this instant is more than just a fleeting image. As I kissed the girl I loved under the fading moonlight, I knew that this moment, every part of it, would live on forever._

* * *

In the spring-time, I spend my days sitting outside, awaiting the steady fall of a spring-shower. It's a routine thing for me. I grab the box of letters, and I make the journey to my wrap-around porch. I take a seat on my porch swing, and I put on my reading glasses- my sight has worn in my old age. I read a few of her letters, and I become engrossed in her loving words. Then, suddenly, the sky will open and the rain of the springtime will come crashing down. I slip my glasses off my nose, and I close my eyes. I listen to the sound of the rainfall, and I remember that this is exactly what we used to do. And right before the rain ceases, and a brilliant rainbow find's it's way into the sky, I think about what she said to me on a rainy day many years ago.

_It was on a Thursday. It was raining outside, and we were sitting on our porch. That was something we did often during the spring showers. When we heard the patter of a raindrop crashing down to the earth's surface, we'd both rush outside and take a moment to sit in silence and watch the rain. She'd position herself on our porch swing, and she'd sway back and fourth in rhythm to the sound of the falling rain. I'd sit a few feet away in a folding chair, and together, we'd simply watch. I can remember the scent of the tulips that were flourishing our garden, and I can remember the way the wind swept across our front yard, bringing the gentle mist of the steady rainfall to our skin. But most of all, I can remember the look she had on her face as she watched the droplets of water fall to the earth. At first she appeared to be sad, but a moment later her brows creased and her eyes narrowed, and I knew that she was worried. She tore her eyes away from the spring shower and took a hard and concentrated look at my face. I knew that something was bothering her, but I didn't dare break the silence to question her worried gaze._

_So instead, I turned back to watch the falling of the rain, but the shower had ceased. The storm clouds had gone as quickly as they came, and were replaced by a brilliant rainbow in the sky. I looked at her, and she was staring up at that rainbow, a look of concentration spread across her face._

_"Can I ask you a question?"_

_She didn't avert her gaze from the rainbow as she asked this, nor did she wait for an answer from me._

_"Which one of us do you think will go first?"_

_I was taken aback at her peculiar question. We were both young at the time, in our early 30's, and the thought of "going" (dying) had never exactly crossed my mind. I could hear the sound of the crickets chirping in the distance, as the burning sun found it's way back into the blue sky. My eyes searched for the rainbow, hoping that I would find an answer for her in it's brilliant colors, but it was no where to be found. I turned to look at her, and she was gently rocking back and fourth upon our porch swing, deep in thought._

_"I'm not sure," I replied, "Does it matter?"_

_A gentle smile caressed her face as she pushed herself up from the porch swing and walked over to me. She sat on my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. All of a sudden, the sky darkened and opened once again, and the rain thundered down. We both tore our eyes from each other to watch the second shower of the day. We sat peacefully until the small April storm ended._

_I felt her shrug beside me, and then she said, "If you go first, or if I go first, who are we going to watch the rain with?"_

There's a theory that "old people" forget things as their years grow shorter. I never actually understood the concept of "forgetting" something. I may not be in my golden days any longer, but I can most definitely remember things. Things such as a conversation we once had while watching a springtime rainfall, or the time that she handed me 82 letters. Most things I do, such as reading a letter she wrote, or listening to the fall of the rain, remind me of her. She asked me once who we would watch the rain with if one of us were to "go" first. I didn't have an answer for her back then because I was afraid to think about what my life would be like without her. When the rain comes down, she doesn't sit beside me, rocking gently in that porch swing we had all those years ago. If she were with me now, if she could still see that rain, I know that she would never ask who we would watch it with. She may be gone, but with the letters beside me, and the rain coming down, I know that we're still watching it together.

My grandchildren often ask me to tell them the tale of when grandma gave me the letters, and I usually spend a good hour telling them the detailed story. Afterwards, they always seem to ask the same question.

**"Grandpa, how do you remember?"**

**And usually, my answer is always the same.**

**"How can I forget?"**


	3. Her death

_There's a theory that "old people" forget things as their years grow shorter. I never actually understood the concept of "forgetting" something. I may not be in my golden days any longer, but I can most definitely remember things. Things such as a conversation we once had while watching a springtime rainfall, or the time that she handed me 82 letters. Most things I do, such as reading a letter she wrote, or listening to the fall of the rain, remind me of her. She asked me once who we would watch the rain with if one of us were to "go" first. I didn't have an answer for her back then because I was afraid to think about what my life would be like without her. When the rain comes down, she doesn't sit beside me, rocking gently in that porch swing we had all those years ago. If she were with me now, if she could still see that rain, I know that she would never ask who we would watch it with. She may be gone, but with the letters beside me, and the rain coming down, I know that we're still watching it together._

Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill, it's characters, or any plot lines that are referred to in this selection.

Author's note:

Here's chapter 3! Please, please, please give me some reviews! I really want to know your thoughts and opinions!

Lucas speaking of the past is done in _ITALICS_

Lucas speaking of the present is done in REGULAR FONT

The Letters

I suppose you're wondering what happened to her. Thoughts are probably running through your head, and you're asking yourself over and over again, "How'd she die? Was it sudden, was it painful?" In most stories, there's always a central conflict. Something disastrous usually happens, and readers crave the tension of a terrible situation. As an author, I always included a conflict in my stories. I could go on and on forever about the romantic events that went on in mine and Brooke's life, but before I do so, I need to tell you about this strorie's conflict- her death. It happened just short of four years ago. That time may seem long to you, but to me, it feels like yesterday. It's strange how sometimes we can forget what we ate for breakfast in the morning, yet we can remember things that happened years ago. Such as the death of my wife, Brooke Scott.

_On April 25, 2054 (Four years ago), we were headed to New Jersey, where our son, Michael Keith Scott, used to live. We were driving along the highway, as various street signs whipped past our car windows. The radio was playing some song, something fast and upbeat that made you wonder who would ever listen to such annoying music. It was early in the morning, and a fog was cast upon the road, which made it difficult for me to see a thing as I guided the wheel. I probably should have pulled over, the fog was getting worse and worse as we grew close to New Jersey, but Brooke insisted that I kept going because she didn't want to be late to our grandson's birthday. April 25 is Teddy's birthday. Teddy is Michael's son, which makes him our grandson. His real name is Theodore, but it's too long and fancy to say so we all just call him Teddy or Ted. Except for Brooke. Brooke always called him her "Teddy Bear." I remember squinting through the windsheild, trying to make out the black pavement of the highway, but the fog was too intense. I began to ease the car over to the side of the road, thinking that we could wait awhile until the fog went away. As soon as I did this, she turned and slapped my arm._

_"Lucas Scott! Pull the car back onto the road this instant! We are not, and I repeat NOT, missing Teddy Bear's eleventh birthday because you can't drive in a fog!" she yelled._

_Brooke was 66 years old the morning we traveled down that highway to New Jersey. Even in her old age, she was still the same Brooke Davis I had known since I was 16 years old. Growing older had suited Brooke, in fact, it had made her more beautiful than you could possibly imagine. She had grown into a stunning woman over the years. I turned to look at her, about to protest continuing to drive in such dangerous conditions, but the look on her face told me to keep on driving. Her bright eyes, which had turned even greener over the years, were ablaze and alive. Her mouth was in a tight line- she was trying to make herself look angry. Her brown hair framed her face in a brilliant and glamorous hair cut. Brooke never took a liking to grey hair. I remember she woke up one morning, looked in the mirror, and screamed because she discovered a single white hair upon her head. So ever since that morning, she had made sure to dye her hair each month to prevent white and grey hairs. Brooke was 66 years old, but you would never know it by looking at her. She was in top physical condition. Sure, her face was wrinkled a bit, but she looked elegant and beautiful regardless of her age. Her personality had remained the same, yet she had managed to mature while remaining as tough and outgoing as ever. When you looked at her, you could see wisdom of many years within her vibrant eyes, yet her carefree banter and swift movements made her seem as if she was a woman much younger than her sixty-six years._

_After gazing at her beauty for what seemed like hours, I turned the car back onto that highway like I was told. She let out a triumphant sigh and said, "Thank-you."_

_I smiled and removed one hand from the wheel and gently placed it on her thigh. She smiled back at me and covered my hand in her own, giving it a loving squeeze. _

_"Lucas, you packed Teddy Bear's presents, right?" she asked suddenly, a look of alarm crossing her face._

_I continued to squint down the road, trying to see through the fog, and nodded my head. _

_"Of course I did. All 14 of them!" I replied sarcastically._

_Brooke had went out and bought 14 birthday gifts for Ted. She truly spoiled our grandchildren. She was an amazing grandmother, wise and loving, just like she had been with our own children. Honestly, I always believed that Teddy was her favorite grandchild. She would never admit to this when you asked her, but I knew it was true. Brooke loved each one of her grandchildren dearly, but she always had something special for Ted, and I knew exactly what it was. Teddy was eleven years old that day, and even though he was still young, he looked exactly like me. Whenever I look at him, I can see myself behind his blue eyes. He's broody and quiet at most times, just like I am. He loved to read John Steinback at the time, even though he was still in his pre-teen years. But his most clear resemblance to me is his blonde hair, and ocean blue eyes. His father, Michael (my son), looked exactly like me also, so I suppose that is why Ted does too. So I always believed that this was why Brooke adored him so much- he was the miniature version of myself. _

_"He's our grandson! We're supposed to give him lots of presents!" she responed. _

_I laughed and nodded my head in agreement. _

_"Of course we are, dear. Maybe next birthday we can give him 20 presents instead!" I shot back._

_Brooke laughed and said, "You're lucky I love you Mr. Scott."_

_"And you're lucky I love you, Mrs. Scott," I replied. _

_**It was the very last thing I said to her.** _

_About a second after I said that to her, I could make out distinct headlights through the fog. The next thing I knew, I saw a bright red pick-up truck directly in front of our car, and it was about to collide head on with us. _

_You could say that the fog was to blame for our accident. Or, like I do at most times, you can blame it on me. You could blame it on anything, but either way, that bright red pick-up was still going to crash directly into us._

_The crash happened very quickly, quicker than you could possibly imagine. Neither of us screamed, nor did we do anything to try to save ourselves- that's how quickly it had happened. I felt a sudden jolt, and I saw the shocked face or the driver of the red pick-up as he finally realized that he was crashing into us. I couldn't find the brakes with my feet, nor could I turn the wheel of our car. _

_I never got a chance to say good-bye to her, nor did she get a chance to say good-bye to me. But I'm almost positive that my hand was still on her thigh, and that her own hand was still covering my own. Right before the world went black, I felt her squeeze my hand with her own. I guess that was her good-bye. _

We never did make it to Teddy's birthday party. I remember waking up in a hospital bed, and somehow, I just knew that she was gone. It was as if the atmosphere had shifted. When someone that you love the very most in your world passes away, you just know that they're gone. I opened my eyes, saw the bright white of my hospital room, and I felt a pain in my heart. I wasn't suprised when my children came and told me that their mother had died. I had already known.

_I opened my eyes, and all I could see was an utter white color. My nose began to sniff, and I could smell the clean wreak of a hospital. I wasn't confused about where I was, a part of me understood the situation perfectly. Then I felt a gentle squeeze upon my hand. A moment settled, and a moment hovered, and remained for much more than just a moment. And time stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than just a moment. Then the moment was gone. I knew, in the depth of my heart, that it was not Brooke squeezing my hand as I layed upon that hospital bed. I didn't shift my gaze; instead, I chose to focus upon the white ceiling above me. Seconds later, I heard a fragile voice reach out to me._

_"Daddy..." it said. I knew instantly who it was, although a part of me wanted to believe it was Brooke. In fact, the voice sounded just like Brooke's, and I knew if I looked at the person hovering next to me, I would discover that it looked just like Brooke also. It was my daughter- Rebecca. If I looked at her, I would surely break. She could pass as Brooke's twin, and I could not bare that sight at the moment. So I kept my eyes glued to that ceiling, and I let my daughter, Rebecca, continue to speak._

_"Daddy..." she repeated, her whispery voice sounding exactly like Brooke's, "She didn't make it."_

_I let that sentence remain for a few more seconds, as I let my mind process what it meant._

_**She didn't make it. **_

_**She didn't make it.**_

_**She didn't make it.**_

_I let a single tear drip down my wrinkly cheeks, and I closed my eyes. I nodded my head in understanding, and I squeezed Rebecca's hand. And for a moment, just for a second, I let myself believe that it was Brooke's hand I was holding._

The doctors told me that Brooke had died seconds after the crash occurred- they had said the impact had been too much. They told me that she didn't suffer, and that if she had felt pain, it had only been for seconds. I remember asking the doctors why I hadn't died. I guess you could call that a strange question. Who asks someone why they didn't die? But I wanted to know. What had caused her to leave this world, and what had forced me to keep on living? How could she be here one second, arguing with me about the amount of presents she had gotten our grandson for his birthday, then not be here the next?

The doctors never had an answer to my question. Instead, they always said the same exact thing each time I asked:

"We're sorry for your loss, Mr. Scott."

Sometimes, I miss her so terribly that I wish I were dead also. Other times, I go through the day trying to accept the fact that she is now gone. But most days, when I'm reading one of her letters, or when I see her in the faces of our children and grandchildren, I know that she's still here. She may not be with me physically, but when the wind blows my whitish-blond hair across my forehead, or when the rain starts coming down, I feel her presense inside my heart.

It's been four years since the day Brooke died on that highway. Teddy has had four birthdays since then. And for each one of those four birthdays, I've given him 14 presents. Just like Brooke did for his eleventh birthday- _the last one she lived for._


	4. The Perfect Family

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Hey everyone, here's the latest update! I had a really hard time writing this chapter, so I'd appreciate your feedback and reviews!**

This story is told by Lucas Scott.

_Italics are situations in the past that Lucas is describing._

Regular font is Lucas's thoughts in the present.

**_Bold Italics is Brooke's Letter._**

**Personal thank-you's for all your great reviews are at the bottom!**

"The Letters"

I could tell you that the most important thing in my life is and always will be my deceased wife, Brooke. But that, my dear readers, would be a terrible lie. These past few chapters, all I've revealed to you is that I am in love with this woman. I've told you about her letters, and about how her words help me through my days. I also mentioned the events leading up to her terrible death. Now, after reading this through again, I've realized that I, Lucas Scott, have failed to tell you about some other things. Like I said, I could tell you that the most important thing in my life will always be Brooke, but that would be a lie. My family, along with Brooke, tie with first place in being the closest things to my heart. I think I've covered enough sad and tragic moments so far in my story, so I've decided to proceed onto a happier topic- our children. But before I tell you all about our children, I need to relay to you how it was that the idea of our family first came about.

Back when I was 18 years old, the thought of starting a family with Brooke never really crossed my mind. In fact, any thoughts of the future never actually occurred to me. I didn't think about marrying Brooke, having children with her, or starting a life with the women I loved. A part of me knew that I would be spending the rest of my life with Brooke Davis, but I always avoided the topic of the future. Being an 18 year old man, I was focused on what the present would bring, and how I would get through the moments at hand. Looking back upon the past, I realize now that a part of me should have wondered what our future would be like. For the past 52 years, the letters Brooke wrote to me have done many things for my life. They've let me keep Brooke Davis close to my heart, and they've allowed me to see parts of the girl that I will always love. However, the letters have also proved to be useful in other aspects- such as knocking some sense into an 18 year old teenager.

_It was the day before graduation. I was in my room, trying on my cap and gown for tommorow's graduation ceremonies. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but to think about how ridiculous I looked in my graduation outfit. The blue gown was far too big for me. The sleeves were hanging practically to the ground, and whenever I moved I kept on tripping on the bottom of the gown because it was way too long. I placed the cap upon my head, and all I could do was laugh at the reflection of myself in the mirror. I looked like a complete goofball. In frustration, I threw the cap to the ground, and it skidded underneath my bed. A few seconds later, I realized that I was just acting stupid. Everyone was going to look the same for graduation. It didn't matter what I looked like, as long as I was graduating. So I bent down to my knees, and I began to search with my hands for the cap under my bed. I couldn't find it, so I bent all the way down, and poked my head underneath the bed to get a better look. And there, right before my eyes, was an envelope. My curiosity got the best of me, so I grabbed it and launched myself up from the ground. I took a seat in my computer chair, and quickly tore open the envelope without looking at the front to see who it was from. I unfolded the paper it contained, and I realized that it was one of Brooke's letters that I was holding. At first, I wondered how this letter came to be underneath my bed. I thought I had read each one of Brooke's 82 letters, but I guess one decided to get lost. Without another moments hesitation, my eyes tore their way through her "lost letter."_

_**Letter #50**_

_**Dear Lucas,**_

_**I can't believe I've already written 50 letters to you. I guess this entire writing letters and not sending them to you thing can be considered a bit crazy. Maybe by the end of this Summer I'll finally gain the courage to mail all these letters to you. Until then, I might as well have fun writing them.**_

_**What I'm about to tell you might seem a little weird to you. Okay, let's say it may seem REALLY weird to you. I don't want you to think I'm childish and immature at all, so please don't think that. Alright, I need to get to the point. See, sometimes when I'm alone, I start daydreaming about you. Childish, I know, but I can't help it. I envision you sittting on your bed, reading one of those literature books you love. I picture your blonde hair and perfect blue eyes in my mind, and then suddenly, visions of a future I may one day have with you cloud my mind. One of my favorite daydreams about you is the one where I imagine our family. I close my eyes, and I see a little girl and a young boy (our children), and I become entranced with the dream...**_

_**The young boy is small and scrawny, with thin arms and legs. He's standing in a drive way, and it appears that he's playing basketball. His sandy-blonde hair is tossed across his forehead, as his brows crease in concentration. His bluish-green eyes blaze with confidence as he steadily holds a basketball in his small hands. With all his might, he tosses the ball at the hoop, and it makes a swooshing sound as it goes in. He jumps up in glee and pumps his fist in the air in victory. Then a man comes up from behind him, and swiftly picks him up and twirls him around in circles.The young boy laughs and yelps in happiness, as his father continues to spin him round and round. The father laughs, placing the younger version of himself back on the ground. The boy wipes his blonde bangs out of his face and runs to grab the basketball again. Suddenly, another child comes into view. She's small and delicate, no older than four. Her honey brown locks are pulled back in pig-tails, and are tied with pretty red bows. She smiles- revealing small white teeth. Small dimples crease the sides of her mouth as she sits upon her mother's lap. She's wearing the cutest red checkered dress, with puffy sleeves. White stockings adorn her legs, and red-buckle shoes are upon her feet. Her mother bounces her upon her knee, and her daughter laughs and claps her hands. The mother smiles, and the two watch the father and son play basketball in the driveway. The young girl jumps off her mother's lap, and runs to her father. Her hair blows behind her in the wind as she rushes across the black pavement. The little boy approaches her and hands her the basketball. He points to the hoop, and imitates taking a shot. She watches him, and immediately copies what her brother does, but the ball only goes a couple of feet up in the air. The father laughs, and he hoists his little girl upon his shoulders, bringing her inches away from the hoop. He motions for his son to give him the basketball, and he proceeds to place it into the little girl's hands above him. His lips form the word "Shoot," and she quickly obeys, screaming out in glee as the rubber basketball goes straight through the net. The young boy claps in appraisal, and the mother cheers as she watches her children and husband. The father places his daughter back upon the ground, and let's his children play with one another. He walks to his wife and she immediately falls into his arms. He hugs her and takes in the fresh scent of her brown hair. The songs of the birds can be heard in the distance, and the smell of the young garden in their backyard adorns the air. They both turn to look at the image of their two children, laughing as they roll the basketball back and fourth to each other across the driveway. She smiles against his chest, and then tilts her head to look into his baby-blue eyes. He smiles back at her.**_

_**And then I open my eyes, and the dream vanishes. I know that in the dream, the young boy is our son, and the girl is our daughter. I know that I'm the mother, and you're the father. And I also know that it is only a dream, and it's no where near reality. But a part of me will always wish for that family with you.**_

_**Love always,**_

_**Brooke**_

_After I read that letter, I remember being a bit shocked. I had no idea that Brooke really wanted a family with me. Sure, I had entertained the notion of spending the rest of my life with her, but I never sat and daydreamed about what our family would look like. I re-read that letter a good four times, and then I closed my eyes. I found myself doing exactly what she had done- I began to daydream about our family. _

_A few minutes later, the door to my room flew open and I snapped open my eyes. The pictures of our happy family escaped my mind and were replaced with the image of my girlfriend standing before me. It appeared that she was just jogging- her breaths were coming out in labored spurts and small beads of sweat lined her forehead. She was dressed in what she liked to call one of her "Running bras." It came up above her belly button, and I was pretty sure that it was a sports bra, but she insisted that it was a "running bra," and that all girls used them to go for jogs. Normally, I would have stared longingly at her beautifully sculpted body, dressed in nothing but that "running bra" and a short pair of sports shorts, but the images of the daughter with the dimpled smile and the son with the basketball were still hovering before my eyes. _

_"Hey boyfriend, I was just going for a jog and decided to stop by. What's up?" Brooke asked in between her breaths._

_I just sat there in my computer chair, her letter still in my hands. I didn't respond at all. The shock of her letter combined with her sudden arrival had me speechless. _

_"Lucas! Are you in la-la land or something?" she asked, while taking a sip from a water bottle she held in her hand._

_I still, for some un-Godly reason, could not figure out what to say. I wanted to ask her about the family she dreamed of. I wanted to ask her when she wanted to have children. Basically, I wanted to ask every single question about our future, but somehow, I couldn't find the words. So instead, I thrust the letter at her, begging her with my eyes to take it. She gave me a confused look, and then took the letter into her own hands. _

_"Wow, you could of just said, 'Here Brooke, read this.'," she said, as her eyes began to scan the letter._

_A few moments passed, and I watched as her cheeks slowly began to redden in embarassment as she discovered what she was reading. She began to shift her weight back and forth from each foot as she continued reading, her self-consciousness becoming more evident by the second. Once she was finished, she handed her own letter back to me, and quickly folded her arms over her chest. Obviously, after reading that letter, she was embarrassed to be standing before me in that "Running bra."_

_"I thought you already read all my letters?" she said slowly, her cheeks still burning in embarrassment._

_I shook my head and replied, "No, I just found this one under my bed."_

_A confused look spread over her face as she kinked one eye-brow and said, "What was it doing under the bed?"_

_"Does it matter?" I responded._

_She took a few seconds to think of something to say. Clearly, she was just as dumbfounded as I was at the moment. _

_"So that's why you're acting so weird...because you just read that?" she asked, pointing toward the letter._

_I nodded my head and said, "I just didn't know...I didn't know that you wanted a family with me so badly."_

_At the word "family", Brooke's cheeks began to redden even more, and she quickly walked to my closet and grabbed a sweatshirt. Wordlessly, she threw it over her head, covering up her nearly naked upper body. Then, she took a seat in front of me on my bed. She stared into my eyes, and I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking. I knew she was embarrassed, but did she regret ever writing that letter? In a bigger view, did she regret even dreaming of starting a family with me?_

_"Lucas, I'm in love with you. Usually when you're in love with someone you think about your future with that person. Haven't you ever thought about our future?" she asked._

_I thought about her question, and once again, I realized that the thought of having children and starting a family had never really crossed my mind. As if she read what I was thinking, she shot up from the bed in anger and began to pace back and fourth. I watched as her eyes began to glimmer as her anger almost reached a boiling point._

_"I can't believe you've never thought about our future, Lucas! You're sitting here acting like it's the end of the world that I want to have a family with you, and that the fact that I think about our future children is absolutely horrifying to you!" she screamed._

_My eyes zoomed back and fourth, following her stressful pacing. She was definetely about to initiate a full on argument if I didn't do something. So I stood up from the chair, and grabbed her shoulders. I held her steady in front of me, and took a deep breath._

_"Okay, look. Ever since we got back together...ever since that night you came to my doorway with those letters...I've been too busy worrying about the present and what's going to happen in the next day, or in the next week. A part of me knows that the rest of my life is going to be with you, but I can't help but to stay focused on today, on what's happening right now with you. It's not that I'm "horrified" at the thought of children. In fact, I just spent the last 15 minutes running that dream of yours through my head. The one with the son and daughter...I can't get rid of it. Honestly, ever since I read that letter of yours I've found myself wanting that family. The one that you described, it was absolutely perfect."_

_She looked into my eyes for a moment, taking in everything I said. Slowly and cautiously, she replied, "Luke...you're standing here in your graduation uniform, which I must say looks ridiculous on you, but that's besides the point. Tommorow we're graduating. I think it's time for you to start thinking about **your future**."_

_"**Our future**," I immediately replied._

_"What?"_

_"You said, 'I think it's time for you to start thinking about your future.' But it's not just my future, it's our future," I said._

_**And then she kissed me.** _

That was the very first time that I thought about our children. Right after that day, the dream she described in her letter found it's way into my mind each night before I went to sleep. Like I said, her letters did many things for my life, such as knocking some sense into an 18 year old guy. I was clueless until I read that letter, and ever since then I've been in love with the thoughts of a family. Now, 52 years later, not only am I in love with the thought of a family, but I'm also in love with my family itself. I'm an elderly man with four children and seven grandchildren, which I will proceed to tell you all about in the next few chapters of my story. Until then, I want you to close your eyes, and I want you to imagine the family that was described in the 50th letter.

Brooke Davis once wrote a letter to me about her image of a family. She dreamt of a young boy with blonde hair and bluish-green eyes. A boy that would play basketball. A boy that would look just like his father. She dreamt of a little girl with curly brown hair in pig-tails. A girl with a dimpled smile. She dreamt of us together, holding each other and watching our children's laughter. When we were 18, Brooke imagined the perfect family. Throughout the years, that imaginative dream became a reality, and her wish to have that family with me came true.

* * *

**Personal thank-you's for reviewers**

**Bleeding Crimson Regret- **Thanks for your great reviews! You said in one that you thought the story was sad, and I completely agree. But don't worry, happy Brucas moments are yet to come!

**Patheticallypoetic- **Haha I can't believe I made you cry! I'm sorry!!! I hope this chapter didn't make you cry also! Thanks for your review!

**Chad'sheart13- **I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story! I know you're always looking forward to the next update, so I'll try to get one out asap. Thanks!

**CherieDennis- **Thank you so much for you're enthusiastic reviews! You said once that you were sad Brooke died in chapter 3! I know, it's very sad. But look on the bright side, even though she has died, a large portion of the story deals with Brooke and Lucas moments in the past when she's still alive. I'm going to try to update as soon as possible! So keep reading!

**tripnfallbri- **At the end of chapter 3 you said it was said that Lucas didn't get a chance to say goodbye to Brooke...so I'm definetely going to try to cheer you up with some more happy Brucas moments! Thanks for the review...keep reviewing and reading!

**doks.brucas.happy- **I'm glad that you like the story, and sorry for making you cry haha. Thank you for your amazing review, it brought a smile to my face!

**lele- **You asked to hear more about the Brucas kids and how old they are. I'm pretty sure the next few chapters will act as individual chapters for each one of Brooke and Lucas's children, so we'll find out more about them then. Thanks for the review!

**tinycapricorn12- **I'm glad you love the story! I'll try to update soon! Thanks!

**oth rox- **Thanks for your review! I appreciate it! Keep reading and reviewing!


	5. Nine months Part 1

Hi everyone! I'd like to apologize for my lack of updates...it's been a long time. For any new readers, I'd suggest that you read the previous chapters before reading this one, you may get a little confused. However, I put a few paragraphs right underneath this one as a little re-cap. Enjoy the chapter, **and please please please review!**

Disclaimer: I don't own OTH.

_Previously in "The Letters..."_

_My name is Lucas Scott. If you live in Tree Hill, chances are you've heard of myself and my family. They say I'm just the brother of a retired Nba basketball player. They say I'm the name on the cover of the book that's sitting on their night-stand, the author of their favorite novel. To the world, I am Lucas Scott, a famous novelist. But to the few that truly know me, I fall under quiet a few labels. _

A brother.

A son.

A father.

A grand- father.

An uncle.

A friend.

But one title of who I once was is gone from that list, vanished forever. The word "husband" used to be there. Instead, it's now replaced with something else.

_**A widower.**_

I don't fall asleep with the one I love wrapped in my arms each night, nor do I revel in the feeling of the heart's truest kiss. But I have loved another with all my heart and soul, and for me, this has always been enough. I'm an elderly man, with a box of letters to help me through my days. A man with four wonderful children, seven grandchildren, and friends that are always by my side. My hair is grayed, my skin has wrinkled. I've changed in a million ways since the year I was 18 years old. The year the letters helped me find the girl I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. I do not mourn my loss of her, the loss that occurred just a few years ago, although it seems like so much longer. I was blessed to have her in my life, and the letters bring her back to me each day. All 82 of them.

_Brooke Davis once wrote a letter to me about her image of a family. She dreamt of a young boy with blonde hair and bluish-green eyes. A boy that would play basketball. A boy that would look just like his father. She dreamt of a little girl with curly brown hair in pig-tails. A girl with a dimpled smile. She dreamt of us together, holding each other and watching our children's laughter. When we were 18, Brooke imagined the perfect family. Throughout the years, that imaginative dream became a reality, and her wish to have that family with me came true._

_The Letters:_

_Chapter 5, Part 1_

I grew up as an only child. My mother and I always made the perfect team. She used to say that we were like two pea's in a pod, it was always us against the world. We had Keith also...but he was taken from us far too soon in life. Up until my late teen years, when I truly became acquainted with my half-brother, Nathan, I never had to share with other siblings. I was an only child- I received my mother's full attention and love. Now, as a man of roughly 70 years of age, I realize that having a family of more than just two people proved to be a triumphant success.

Brooke used to tell me that she hated growing up as an only child. She said that not having a sister or brother to confide in was possibly the worst of things. Brooke was raised in a broken family, and I always question how it was that she evolved into such a beautiful person, considering who her parents were. From the beginning of her first pregnancy, Brooke had forced me to promise something. She told me that if we were to have that first child, we were to have many more after that. She wanted her children to grow up with a big family. Over the years, we both kept that promise. We proceeded to have that "big family."

Throughout the years, my family had perfected something called the "system of firsts." The first steps, first words, first giggles, first frowns, first tears, first friends, first boyfriend/girlfriend. And no matter what, for each one of those "firsts", Brooke and I were always there. We never missed a single second of our children's lives, or at least that's what we like to think. Now, in the honor of our "system of firsts," I suppose I should begin the saga of my children with out first born, Michael Keith Scott.

Women enjoy re-living the tales of their first pregnancies with friends. They sit together, maybe around a table filled with coffee and pastries, or perhaps on a blanket in the park overlooking their children's activities upon the swing set…and they always elaborate on where they were when their water broke, what they were doing, and how they reacted. To me, this is a pointless and unreasonable story session. If I were a woman, which is a statement that you probably will never catch any man saying again, I would never want to re-live the story of the very first time I gave birth. The first time Brooke went into labor was a whirlwind, and it's certainly not something that I enjoy reviving. But if I were to say a single thing about the great "miracle of birth," is that at the very end of it, when you're sitting with your newly delivered child in your arms…that moment that you have may be the greatest of your life.

* * *

_It was 6:00 on a Friday night. Brooke and I were sitting on our couch, watching a re-run marathon of "Friends." Her feet were propped up on my lap, and her hands rested upon her rounded belly. I was content, and it was in my fullest intention to continue watching TV until Brooke fell asleep. However, my 9-month pregnant fiance had other plans._

_"I'm hungry," Brooke said, as she kicked a foot into the top of my thigh. _

_I sighed and rubbed the back of my head. For the past nine months, three phrases had escaped Brooke's mouth persistently- "I'm hungry," "Rub my feet," and, "Need I remind you that this is __**your**__ child that I am carrying?"_

_"You just had 3 hot-dogs Brooke. How could you possibly be hungry again?" _

_Brooke swiftly removed her feet from my lap and edged away from me on the couch. When she was happy with the amount of space she had put between her and myself, she turned to speak to me._

_"Let me explain a simple concept to you," Brooke said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I have a human being inside of me. Humans need to eat. So not only do I need to fulfill my own hunger needs, but I also need to feed another person in my body. So before you start asking me about my appetite, why don't you take the fact that I'm carrying __your__**hungry** child into consideration."_

_I rolled my eyes at Brooke's snide speech. In the past few weeks, Brooke had grown more bitter than ever. While she loved knowing that we would soon have a baby, Brooke Davis still managed to hate the baggage that came with being pregnant. The fatness was utter torture, more so for me than it was for her. Each morning I would have to hear remarks about Brooke's rounded belly. It seemed to me that all she did was complain, but I never understood why. To me, Brooke had grown even more beautiful throughout her pregnancy. Her cheeks were rosy red; her eyes were always gleaming. She was vibrant. I think that she knew this, but enjoyed complaining because she knew it would irritate me. She also hated the morning sickness, but that had disappeared along with the first few months of pregnancy. And lastly, she despised her hormonal mood swings- something the two of us had in common. Although her constant complaints did indeed annoy me, I still abided to Brooke's every need and want. Brooke Davis was possibly the most difficult pregnant woman on the face of the earth- but I loved her more than ever before._

_"Okay. What do you want to eat? I'll make you anything," I replied, planting a smile on my face in spite of her brutal sarcasm. _

_Brooke laughed and raised her eyebrows. She took a deep breath, readied herself, then pushed off the couch and stood up. Placing her hands on her stomach, Brooke slowly walked to the TV and turned it off. _

_Turning to me, she said, "No, I want to go out. Restaurant Lucas Scott is closed tonight. I've had enough of this staying in 24/7, I want to get out of the house."_

_She gave me a look that was defiant, as if she was daring me to tell her we couldn't go out. And that was exactly what I was going to do._

_"Absolutely not, Brooke. Your due date is in 2 weeks. You can't be leaving the house to go escapading around town...you need your rest," I replied._

_"Fine. Why don't you sit here for a little while and think about your pregnant girlfriend that is starving to death. I'll be in the car waiting to go to dinner," Brooke said._

_With that, she walked out of the house, leaving our red door slamming shut behind her. _

_I was left alone to sit on the couch. I had proposed to Brooke a few weeks before we found out about the pregnancy. In the past few months, I learned that through her anger, she would call my "girlfriend," instead of my "fiance." The house was almost silent, all that could be heard was the sound of the fishtank in the corner of our living room. Our house was small, we had bought it a month after Brooke found out that she was pregnant. We had previously lived in an apartment, but it was far too small for Brooke and I, let alone a baby also. But our apartment had served us well- we had lived there for the first year of college classes at UNC. By our second year, Brooke became pregnant. So we picked up our lives and moved to a small brick house. It was a few blocks away from the college. Our new home was only bigger than our previous apartment by a small margin, but living there gave us a new sense of maturity. Brooke had always believed that I had bought the house...but being a young college student, I didn't have the money. Which is where Dan Scott's big bucks had come in. Sure, I had hated the man for a large portion of my life...but he was willing to help, and I agreeg to accept the money as an early present for our baby. Life in that house was perfect...until Brooke's 9th month of pregnancy, when everything had turned to chaos._

_A car horn sounded in the distance, and I knew that it was Brooke signaling me to get my butt out to the car. I had lost our fight, but then again, I never really won any to begin with. With an exasperated sigh, I got up from the couch, grabbed the car keys along with my wallet off the kitchen counter, and made my way outside to the driveway._

_As soon as I entered our small black Volkswagon, Brooke immediately said, "I want to go to that little Mexican restaurant near our old apartment. I'm craving Mexican food."_

_Her wish was my command, and off we were to that "little Mexican restaurant." The drive was short and blissful. Brooke had turned the stereo on, and was singing away to Gwen Stefani's "Sweet Escape." Her voice was raspy and articulate; she wasn't a first class singer, but for some reason the sound of her singing was a beautiful thing. She was happy and content...but Brooke, as a pregnant woman, never proved to be happy and content for more than a good 20 minutes. Which was why a sad and dreary look passed it's way across Brook's face once we pulled up to the Mexican eatery._

_"What's wrong? I thought you wanted to get something to eat here?" I asked._

_Brooke promptly shook her head and bit down her lip in quiet negation. "No." she replied._

_"What do ya mean 'no?' You're not hungry anymore?" I prodded._

_Brooke giggled mischeiviously. "Of course I want to eat, silly. Just not here! Not in the mood for Mexican food anymore."_

_I slammed my fist into the steering wheel and roughly dragged my hands through my blonde hair. 'Deep breaths, just take deep, deep breaths,' I told myself. It required patience to put up with Brooke Davis. So for the second time that night, I swallowed my oncoming anger and turned to face my fiance._

_"Where do you want to go?" I asked in a steady and controlled tone._

_Her green eyes locked with mine, and I watched as her finely shaped eyebrows creased into concentration. A few moments passed, and then she made her decision._

_"Remember that little place we went to after our first day of college classes?" she asked._

_I thought back to that night, which seemed to be an eon away, when in reality, it was only a year ago. Brooke and I were only sophomores in college, which is something that I didn't like thinking about at the time, mainly because it frightened me. I didn't know what to do for money- I worked two jobs, went to 3 college classes a day, and had my own estranged father pay for the miniscule house I was living in. How was I going to provide for a family? But I pushed the thought to the back of my head, and focused on the subject at hand._

_"Sure I remember. It's called Michael's. Is that where you want to go?"_

_Brooke gave me an inncocent smile, flashing her amazing dimples that had only seemed to grow bigger in the previous months. "Yes," she replied._

_It took 20 minutes to drive across town to Michael's Restaurant. On the car ride over, I estimated that we could have saved an entire hour of our precious time if Brooke had only agreed to let me make her something to eat at the house. But once again, Brooke was completely oblivious to my annoyed state. She was back to her cheerful mood. _

_Michael's was a pleasant restaurant. As we were seated to a small table, I took a moment to observe my surroundings. There were only about 5 other couples spread throughout the dining room. It was definetely not a lace tabecloth type of place- they had paper place mats. But for some reason, the restaurant still emitted a welcoming atmosphere. _

_A waiter came to our table, bringing with him two menus. He departed abruptly, leaving Brooke and I to read over our meal choices. I glanced across the table at her. Her pregnant belly was slightly apparent above the table, and her hair was swept up and over her head in a messy bun. She was biting her lip in deep concentration, as if choosing her dinner was the hardest decision of her life._

_"Pick what you want yet?" I asked her._

_She let out an annoyed grunt, and without tearing her eyes away from the menu, she replied, "I was about to but you interrupted me."_

_'It's just the hormones,' I thought to myself._

_The waiter returned seconds later, asking if we were ready to order. We both nodded in affirmation._

_"I'll have a cheeeseburger with a side of a house salad," Brooke said, handing over her menu to the waiter._

_"Same," I said, following suit and giving the waiter my menu._

_"What would you like to drink?" the waiter asked._

_"Water for me," Brooke replied._

_"Same for me," I said, evoking a dirty look from Brooke. "Can't you get your own stuff, or can you only order what I order?" Brooke snapped._

_I felt my cheeks burning as the waiter gave me a look as if to say, "And you put up with that attitude?" He walked away, promising to bring us our drinks momentarily._

_I reached my hand across the table, and took Brooke's gently in my own, hoping to erase her bitter mood. I toyed with the finger that adorned her diamond engagement ring. It was only a single diamond, and you almost had to use a microscope to see it. But I was planning to buy Brooke a new ring as soon as I had a pay raise...even though Brooke was delighted with the current one. I took her hand and pressed it to my lips, planting a soft kiss upon her smoothe skin. _

_"I love you..." Brooke said, so quietly that I could barely hear it._

_"I love you too," I replied, satisfied that she was once again happy._

_Just then, the waiter arrived with our two waters. But right before he placed them on the table, Brooke let out a shrill cry and gave the waiter a daring look._

_"Did you just spill water on me?" she screamed._

_I looked to the waiter, whose eyes were wide with shock. Then I saw the two water glasses that were still steadily positioned between his hands, their contents still in the glasses._

_"Brooke, what are you talking about? The glasses are in his hand, he didn't spill any on you," I said, shooting Brooke a questioning gaze._

_Brooke returned my confused look. Then, all at once, apprehension filled her face as she grew white in fear._

_"Luke...I think my water just broke."_

_**To be continued...**_

**_(Remember to review...whether it be good or bad, I take any kind of review graciously! Thanks for reading!)_**


	6. Nine Months Part 2

Hey everyone! 2 chapters in 2 days! This is like a record for me!

Disclaimer: I think we all know that I don't own OTH.

Flashbacks are in _Italics._

This story is narrated by Lucas Scott.

_Previously in "The Letters":_

"I love you..." Brooke said, so quietly that I could barely hear it.

"I love you too," I replied.

Just then, the waiter arrived with our two waters. But right before he placed them on the table, Brooke let out a shrill cry and gave the waiter a daring look.

"Did you just spill water on me?" she screamed.

I looked to the waiter, whose eyes were wide with shock. Then I saw the two water glasses that were still steadily positioned between his hands, their contents still in the glasses.

"Brooke, what are you talking about? The glasses are in his hand, he didn't spill any on you," I said, shooting Brooke a questioning gaze.

Brooke returned my confused look. Then, all at once, apprehension filled her face as she grew white in fear.

"Luke...I think my water just broke."

_**The Letters**_

**_Chapter 6: Nine Months_**

_Part 2_

Friday nights are a special occassion in my family. At the end of each week, right before the weekend begins, I take some of my grandchildren down to Michael's Restaurant- the chic Italian place right on the edge of the river. Each time we attend, I request the same table. We eat to our heart's desire, and I listen to my grandsons and grandaughters tell the adventurous stories from their days at school. Sometimes, their eyes grow wide with excitement in the middle of one of their stories, and a small dimple will pop up on the side of their face in the presence of their smiles. For a brief second, I'll close my eyes and picture Brooke in my head. She'll be sitting right at the table with us, intently listening to her grandchildren's stories. Time will rewind, and I'll find myself back to the night I ate with Brooke at this exact restaurant. The night our son was born. But then I'll feel a small hand tap on my arm, and I'll open my eyes to find a small child close to my face.

"Grandpa, what are you thinking about?"

"Oh nothing, continue your story," I reply.

* * *

_"Luke...I think my water just broke."_

_Brooke's eyes are wide in terror and shock as she says this, and a pale color consumes her face. I look at her, but what she's saying doesn't reach my ears, and I don't think I've heard her right. She says her water just broke, but that can't be. Her due date isn't for another 2 weeks. So I remain silent, determined to believe that I am only hearing things, she couldn't possibly have told me that her water just broke. _

_"LUCAS!" Brooke screams my name, and I feel my forehead break out into a cold sweat. _

_'She's going into labor,' I think to myself._

_Then everything seems to fall into place. A lightbulb has gone off in my head, because I feel my arms grabbing for my wallet, leaving a quick $20 on the table for a meal we haven't even eaten. I quickly take my jacket off the back of my chair, swing it onto my back, then turn to look at Brooke. She's sitting completely still, and her eyes are filled with worry. _

_"Let's go," I say._

_But she shakes her head in negation, and I feel my heart rate quicken. 'Please let her cooperate,' I say to myself._

_"Brooke. Hospital. Now." I can't seem to string together a proper sentence, for too many thoughts are racing through my mind. _

_She shakes her head once again and says, "No. I can't. I won't. The baby isn't due for another 2 weeks. So help me God, this baby is staying in my body until I'm ready."_

_I can tell that she's scared. Brooke Davis doesn't usually reveal her true emotions- especially if she's afraid. She keeps to herself, in a distant place that many people cannot reach. She's shut me out before, and I quickly discover that she's attempting to do it again. I do the only thing I can think of doing- I drop to my knees in front of a restaurant filled with people, and I beg Brooke Davis to allow me to escort her to the hospital so that she may have our child. _

_"Please, Brooke. We need to go to the hospital," I say, as I'm kneeling in front of her face, grasping her hands in my own. I feel her hands trembling, and a single tear escapes down her cheek._

_"This baby is coming right now, and trust me, it's going to be fine. We're going to have a beautiful child, but we can't unless I get you to the hospital. Trust me, everything will be okay."_

_I seem to have coaxed her out of her terrified state, because she's slowly standing. I wrap a strong arm around her waste, and she allows me to walk her out of Michael's Restaurant. I continue to mutter the words, "Everything will be okay," as we make our way outside to the parking lot and into our car. I help her into the passenger seat, then run to the other side to hop into the driver's seat. I jam the key into the ignition, fasten my seatbelt, and shove my foot onto the gas pedal. We pull onto the road, and for just a second, I'm convinced that everything will truly be okay. Then all hell breaks loose._

_"GOD DAMMIT LUCAS!"_

_I immediately shove both feet on the brakes, and pull to the side of the rode in utter fear. _

_"What happened? Are you okay?" I yell back worriedly._

_She violently turns her head in my direction so she can look me straight in the eye. Her icy glare told me that she was definetely not okay._

_"You want to know if I'm okay, Lucas? NO, I'M NOT OKAY! I'm 20 years old and I'm having a baby that isn't supposed to come for two more weeks, but my maniac of a fiance is FORCING me to go to the hospital! And you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that maybe YOU should try pushing something the size of a soccer ball out of a hole the size of a tennis ball!"_

_I don't know what to say to her crazy outbreak, so I just decide to laugh. She looks at me in disgust, and continues to scream insults. I take a deep breath, and pull the car back on the road. That car ride to the hospital was the fastest I've ever driven in my entire life._

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_It felt like it was 1,000 degrees in the delivery room. My head was spinning as doctors and nurses surrounded Brooke, pleading with her to push a little harder. I was holding her hand, and all I could think about was the fact that my fingers were going to be broken from her deadly grip._

_"I HATE ALL OF YOU!" Brooke screamed. Her chest was rising and falling heavily, small beads of sweat surrounded her forehead, her brunette locks were a tangled mess on top of her head, and her cheeks were a firy red. Yet she was more beautiful than I'd ever seen her before._

_I searched the doctor's face for a reaction. It was the third time in less than a minute that Brooke had screamed that she hated everyone in the near vicinity. The doctor just brushed it off, while soothingly convincing Brooke that she had to push._

_"Brooke, just push a little harder! I promise you, it'll all be over in just a few minutes if you push with all your might!" I said, hoping that I could join in the effort to persuade her to continue pushing._

_"It's your fault," she yells in protest, "it's all your fault Luke! If you had kept your filthy hands off me I wouldn't have to push right now!"_

_The doctors and I are desperate at this point; the longer she doesn't push, the more it hurts her. There's nothing worse in the world than watching the girl I love endure pain. So I decide to do the unthinkable._

_"You know what Brooke, you're looking pretty round at the moment."_

_Her eyes bore a hole in my head as she gives me a terrifying glare. "Exucse me?"_

_"I said you're looking a bit FAT at the moment. So maybe if you pushed, the baby would come out and you'd be less FAT!" I yelled._

_Normally, I would never call Brooke Davis fat, because she is anything but. This called for an exception. And, just as I thought she would, Brooke let out one strong push, and the crys of a newborn baby echoed into the room. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard._

_"It's a boy!" the doctor said._

_My stomach did a complete flip in excitement, and I turned to see Brooke's expression. She must have forgotten my fat comment, because a large dimpled smile was encompassing her face. They took our son away, and assured us they'd be back in just a minute. I bent to smoothe Brooke's hair out of her face, and to run a wet cloth across her forehead. _

_"You were great," I told her._

_"Couldn't have done it without you."_

_I smile and plant a tender kiss on her lips. The doors to the delivery room open, and in walks a nurse with our son. I watched as she walked to Brooke's bed, and gently placed the newborn child into his mother's arms. Brooke's eyes sprung alive as she held her son, and she lovingly rocked him in her arms._

_"7 1/2 pounds," the nurse said, "he's perfect."_

_I felt a powerful feeling overtake my body, as if nothing in the entire world could touch me in that moment- I felt like the luckiest man in the entire world. My son was perfect._

_Then Brooke placed our child in my arms, and the feeling happened all over again. My son had a small patch of light blonde hair right on top of his head. His eyes were closed in peaceful slumber. He had two legs, two arms, 10 fingers and 10 toes. He was a miracle._

_"Luke, the name of that restaurant...what was it again?" Brooke asked._

_"Michael's."_

_"He looks like a Michael, doesn't he? A Michael Keith?"_

_I paused for a moment, considering the use of my deceased uncle's name for our baby. I knew that Keith would have been honored._

_"Definetely."_

_Just then, my mother, accompanied by Nathan and Haley, entered the room. They "oohed," and "ahhed," over our newborn baby. I was a proud father._

_Karen held him for awhile, as did Haley, then Michael was returned to his mother._

_"So what's his name," Karen asked._

_Without tearing her eyes away from her perfect son's face, Brooke replied, "Michael. Michael Keith Scott."_

_Michael Keith Scott. **My son.**_

* * *

Friday nights are a special occassion in my family. At the end of each week, right before the weekend begins, I take some of my grandchildren down to Michael's Restaurant- the chic Italian place right on the edge of the river. My grandkids often ask me why I always take them to the same restaurant every Friday, but I never give them a decent answer. I don't know how to explain the significance Michael's Restaurant has for me. They'll never know that I choose the same table each time because that's the table Brooke and I occupied the night our first child was born. Nor will they know that Michael Keith Scott is named after that restaurant.

On some Friday's, when my grandchildren are busy with their own activities, I go to Michael's to eat alone. The hostess always asks me if I want a table for one. I can never find the courage in myself to agree to sit at a table with just one chair, one place-mat, and one menu. I know that she's gone, but a part of me still pretends she's with me...I can't seem to let her go, or to accept the fact that I am truly alone.

So I say no. **_Table for two._**

(To all who reviewed last chapter: thank you!! I'll try to get personal thank-you's up next chapter.)

**Please Review! ;-)**


	7. Sinatra's Track 13

Sorry for the lack of recent updates...life's been pretty hectic. One word: Finals. If I don't get another chapter out immediately, it's because of those dreadful things. I have to admit that I had the worst case of writer's block for this chapter. For the life of me, I couldn't come up with any catchy idea. It's not my favorite chapter, and in my opinion, not my best. But I hope you guys enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own OTH.

The song at the end of this chapter is by Frank Sinatra.

_Italics_ are flashbacks, Regular Font is Lucas narrating in the present.

This story is narrated by Lucas Scott.

**The Letters**

**Chapter 7**

Dinner at the Scott house was always an affair. Along with our two sons and two daughters, Brooke and I would sit around our dinner table each night, and feast upon whatever meal Brooke had prepared while listening to our children's adventures of the day. I always believed that a meal eaten together is something that all families should do. Back then...back when our children were filled with youth, and back when Brooke and I were younger, dinner time was the highlight of the day. We all led hectic schedules, and the one time we would come together was at the dinner table in the evenings.

Brooke had this tradition whenever she'd cook a meal. If you ever went in our kitchen, you'd find a miniature CD stand sitting on our island counter, directly in the center. It was piled high with CD's- all Frank Sinatra albums. Next to the CD stand was a CD player. See, Brooke had this thing whenever she cooked. She ALWAYS listened to Frank Sinatra. No matter what, each evening when I'd walk through the front door, the sounds of Frank Sinatra's voice would reach my ears. I'd make my way to our kitchen, and there I'd find Brooke, swinging her hips and singing along to her heart's desire. Frank sang all his classics in our kitchen: "Come Fly With Me," "Luck Be a Lady Tonight," and even, "For Once In My Life." By now, I guarantee you that I have every word to each Sinatra song memorized.

I follow Brooke's tradition. Whenever I prepare a meal at home, which isn't too often, but whenever I do...a Frank Sinatra CD accompanied by a CD player are always present. I'll be standing in my kitchen, ready to prepare dinner, but before I begin each time, my hand finds it's way to the "play" button on my CD player. Sinatra's voice echoes into my kitchen as I throw together something to eat. All too quickly, I find myself racing back into the past...back when I'd walk into the house right before dinnertime, and I'd hear the sound of Brooke happily singing along to a Sinatra song while cooking dinner.

* * *

_I parked my black SUV in the driveway, right next to Brooke's car. My feet hit the blacktop as I stepped out of my car and took a brief look at the sky- it looked like it was going to rain tonight. I sighed to myself, wishing that I could park my car in the garage because rain drops always seemed to leave marks on the black paint. I was never allowed access to our garage though- it was occupied year round by Brooke's blue VW beetle. She'd had that car since high school. Brooke refused to get rid of it. I made my way onto the sidewalk that led up to our front door, carefully maneuvering my way past an assortment of toys. I made a mental note to be sure to tell the kids to clean up their stuff in the front yard tomorrow morning before school. When I reached our front door and retrieved my keys from my pocket, I felt a wide smile forming on my face. I had a house that was perfectly suitable for our family, children that were all beautiful in their own special ways, and a wife that I loved more than anything. I turned the key in our gold door knob, and pushed the door open. I was immediately meant with the sound of Frank Sinatra's songs and the scent of dinner flowing smoothly from the kitchen. I laid my keys and briefcase on a small table off to the side of our front foyer, and slipped my shoes off my feet._

_"I'm home!" I yelled._

_Seconds later, a small girl with curly brown locks flung herself into my arms, laughing as I fell backwards onto the floor. She placed her small hands across my eyes as she laid on my chest._

_"Guess who!" she shouted over the Sinatra music. I smiled, already knowing that it was my youngest child- Rebecca._

_She kept her hands clamped over my eyes, patiently waiting for an answer._

_"I don't know? Is it Becca?" I asked, playfully tickling her on her sides. She laughed and released her hands from my eyes, and I was meant with an innocent face staring into my own. Becca was five years old, and it was undeniable that she was Brooke's daughter. Her hair was brown, slightly curled at the bottom. She had light skin, but with rosy cheeks that brightened her entire face. Her eye's were light green- almost blue, but not quiet. But her strongest resemblance to Brooke was in her smile, for a small dimple always appeared on the side of her cheek. Rebecca had a contagious personality. She was happy and perky most of the time, and it seemed that her happiness always rubbed off on you whenever you were close to her. Brooke and I always had to watch what we said around Rebecca. She was sharp, intuitive, and caught on far too quickly when it came to subjects we didn't want her to know about. _

_"You're good at guessing," she replied. I nodded and said, "I know, I have a special talent for that." I hoisted her off my chest as I stood up, and swung her onto my shoulders. _

_"Where to, princess?" I asked._

_"To the kitchen! Full speed ahead!" I obeyed her command and we found our way from the front foyer into the kitchen, tripping over backpacks and school supplies in the process. The sounds of music became even louder as we stood in the doorway, and we both just watched. Brooke's back was facing us as she stirred something in a pot, humming along to the chorus of the song playing. Her hips were swaying to the beat, and I was immediately transfixed by her. The rays of the setting sun reflected through our windows, framing Brooke's figure in a powerful glow. _

_"Hi Mommy!" Rebecca yelled from my shoulders. Brooke spun around and my breath caught in my throat. Her beauty had been undeniable even in high school, but this...the way that she looked now was indescribable. She was 32 years old and the most breathtaking woman on the face of the earth. She smiled at the sight of her husband and daughter and replied, "Hi baby!" I bent down and placed Rebecca on the floor, quietly telling her to warn her brothers and sister that dinner was almost ready. She did as she was told, and Brooke and I were left alone in the kitchen. She hadn't acknowledged me when I walked in, but that was something she did purposefully. I always went to her. She had this powerful hold on me, and no matter what, I found myself doing anything for her. By now she had turned back to her pot, continuing to stir. I walked up behind her and encircled her small figure in my arms, resting my cheek against her own. I felt her smile widening as I breathed in the scent of her. I could never put my finger on what she used- whether it was vanilla or some type of fruity smell. But whatever perfume she used was perfect. Her hair was tied back in a long pony-tail. She never wore it down while cooking. It brushed against my ear as we swayed together to the music._

_"Evening, beautiful," I whispered in her ear. She turned her head and kissed the side of my cheek, her lips soft and welcoming on my skin. "Good evening, husband," she replied. I peered over her shoulder into the pot that she was stirring. _

_"What're you making?" I asked._

_She shrugged her shoulders against my chest and replied, "I dunno."_

_I laughed and spun her around so that she was facing me, and I was meant with green eyes and dimples. "What do you mean, 'I dunno?' How do you not know what you're making?" She shrugged again and launched herself into an explanation. _

_"See, I was going to make spaghetti and meatballs. But I burned the meatballs. Who the hell eats spaghetti without the meatballs? I couldn't let my family eat that. Then I resorted to making something else...but I didn't know what to make. So basically I'm making a stew." _

_"Well what kind of stew?" I playfully pestered as I buried my face into her neck. I planted soft kisses on her collar-bone as she continued explaining._

_"Is there such a thing as an everything stew? Because it's basically the entire contents of our refrigerator poured into a single pot."_

_I grinned, knowing all too well that this dinner was going to be a catastrophe. But I didn't care. If Brooke made it, I was going to eat it. I continued kissing her neck, and I felt her go weak against my body. She entangled her hands in my hair as my lips made their way to her chest. My hands played with the bottom of her shirt, slyly sliding their way up it. Without warning, Brooke turned back to her pot, leaving me empty-handed. I could tell that she was smirking, even though I couldn't see her face._

_"When the kid's go to sleep..." she said over her shoulder. _

_Our physical attraction went the same way it did in high school- we had sex. A lot. But it always had to be when the kids were sleeping, or on those Summer afternoons when they were outside playing and we were left alone inside. Our children already saw enough of our "lovey-doviness," (which is what they called it) they didn't need more of it._

_I found my way upstairs and into the master bedroom that Brooke and I shared. I stripped off my work clothes and replaced them with jeans and a t-shirt. By the time I was done changing, Brooke yelled, "Dinner's ready!" _

_When I got back downstairs, Brooke, Rebecca, and my eldest daughter, Christina, were all sitting at the table. I took my seat next to Brooke, and looked expectantly at two empty seats across from me._

_"Where are the boys?" I asked._

_"They were playing basketball outside, and now they're washing up. Which is totally unfair! I asked them if I could play, but they wouldn't let me! And wanna know why? BECAUSE I'M A GIRL! I could beat both of them with my eyes closed, which is why they won't let me play. I hate them!" Christina shouted._

_I heard a slight laugh escape from Brooke's mouth, and I kicked her foot beneath the table. Christina was a force to be reckoned with. She was daring and bold, and she never accepted mistreatment from anyone. Especially her brothers. Christina was into sports- soccer, softball, basketball. Basketball was her favorite, and she was exceptionally talented. She had definitely escaped with Brooke's temper, there's no doubt about that. When it came to looks, she had dark blonde hair and blue eyes, much like my own. Brooke and I knew she'd be a handful when she got older, but at the age of 11, her daring manner was a funny sight. _

_"Calm down, sweetheart. Remember what I've been telling you. Girls are better than boys at everything, and boys hate including girls because they're afraid of them," Brooke said soothingly. I laughed at Brooke's comment, receiving a harsh glare from both Christina and Brooke. Paired together, those two were a scary sight. I lifted my hands up as if to say, 'Okay, okay, you guys win.'_

_A door slammed somewhere in the house, and in walked my two sons, their cheeks flushed from playing outside. "Girls aren't better at anything!" one of them shouted. _

_"Okay, how bout this," I proposed, "Girls and boys are equal. Settled?" We had two boys and two girls. They were doomed to fight every so often. _

_"Whatever," Christina replied, as she began to stir her stew._

_Nicolas, the younger of our boys, ran to his mother's side and wrapped his arms around her neck. "I picked you some dandelions outside. I put them in the kitchen for you," he said. Brooke smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks baby," she replied. Brooke ruffled his brown hair and beckoned for him to sit down so we could eat._

_Nick was a charmer. He was 7 years old, and just beginning the first grade. You could say that he fell under the category of "Momma's boy." Every other word out of his mouth had something to do with Brooke. At school, he would bring a picture of Brooke each day to show his teacher and his friends. He claimed to have the prettiest mom out of them all...and I couldn't agree with him more. Out of all of our children, Nick was in trouble most frequently. When he grew older, his problems with girls were plentiful...but as a child, his teacher deemed him to be the "class nuisance," always causing havoc in the classroom. Other than his love for his mother, Nick adored his older brother, Michael. The two could almost pass for exact opposites. Nick was loud and outgoing, but Michael was quiet and...well he was __**broody. **__With blonde hair and blue eyes, Mike could almost pass as my twin. He liked to read and enjoyed school. Nick had other things on his mind...such as sports, sports, and more sports. _

_"Mom, did you make us dirt for dinner?" Rebecca asked as she eyed her bowl of brownish-colored stew._

_"It's stew," Brooke replied._

_Rebecca was unconvinced, and she pushed her bowl away from her shaking her head. _

_"Becca, just eat your food. It won't kill you," Michael said. Obeying her older brother, Becca pulled her bowl back to her place at the table and took a single bite. She grimaced, swallowed, and pushed the bowl away from herself again._

_"It can't be THAT bad!" Brooke said, but as we all took our first bites and shuddered at the horrible taste of her "everything" stew, she finally gave in. "Okay, it's that bad. Who wants pizza!" she asked._

_The kids responded with a chorus of "I do's", so we ordered pizza. As we waited for the delivery man to come, we sat around the table, intent to listen to each other's stories of the day. _

_I watched Brooke from my position next to her. I loved how she appeared completely interested in everything our children told her. She kept nodding her head, urging her children to continue talking and describing what they did in school. Michael nudged my shoulder and I turned to look at the miniature version of myself sitting next to me. _

_"So dad, we're reading this Steinbeck book in school..."_

_As Michael described the book to me, Rebecca found her way into my lap. She snuggled into my chest and closed her eyes, intent to use me as her personal bed. But I didn't mind. I learned that when my children were too grown and old to sit in my lap...that was when I should start to worry._

_Brooke's hand found it's way into my own, and she gripped it tightly. She tore her eyes away from her children for just a second to wink at me, and then she let herself return to the fluid conversation of a family. __**Our family.**_

* * *

About a year ago, I was cooking spaghetti and meatballs in my kitchen. I drifted over to the CD stand on my counter, the one that contained all of Brooke's old Sinatra albums. I chose one in particular, and looked at the back to see which songs were on it. I scanned the list of songs the CD presented. For reasons unbeknownst to me, track 13 was circled in bright red. The song was, "Just as Though You Were Here." I assumed that it had been one of Brooke's favorite songs, which would explain why it was circled. I could have sworn that I knew every Sinatra song from years of experience, but for the life of me I couldn't remember the words to this particular song. Curious to hear it, I popped the CD into the player and skipped to track 13. I was shocked to find the story that the lyrics portrayed. It was my story. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but I choose to think that this song was something more. __

Ill wake each morning and Ill promise to laugh  
Ill say good morning to your old photograph  
Then Ill speak to you, dear, **just as though you were here**

When purple shadows start to welcome the dark  
Ill take the same old stroll we took through the park  
And Ill cling to you, dear, **just as though you were here**

But I know so well that distance and time will finally tear us apart  
The farther you go, the longer you stay, the deeper the doubts in my heart

Each night before I wander off into sleep  
Ill bring to light the tears I've buried so deep  
Then Ill kiss you, my dear, **just as though you were here**

And when I hear a lonesome train, I'm afraid  
Ill think of all those trips we never quite made  
Fragile dreams that we planned  
Then Ill reach for your hand  
**Just as though, just as though you were here**

I'm a 70 year old man, living my life from day to day. **Just as though she were here.**

* * *

Remember: reviews are appreciated!

**To all who have reviewed in the past chapters**: Thank you so much, you're my motivation to continue writing!


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